You're Our's Now
by lossit.bay
Summary: Natasha's been at S.H.I.E.L.D for seven months now and after some very taxing missions her and Clint return to base. Clint discovers Natasha's nightmare and they become a lot closer. As a reward they are given a break so they go to Russia. Mainly fluff.


"Back to back?" Clint offered as he crawled into the double bed. They were in Mexico, posing as a young married couple. The assassination attempt would be tomorrow so they had to get sleep while they could.

"I'll take the door." Natasha replied, setting her guns within easy reach on the bedside table. Some of her knives were lying on the floor and the rest were hidden somewhere in the baggy top and underwear she wore to bed. Though there was plenty of space in the king-sized bed she wriggled into her back was flush with his, feeling safer when his warmth radiated into her.

"Ow, Tasha! Your stabbing me in the back." Clint reached behind him, under her t-shirt and pulled out a 6 inch blade. He slid it into the waistband of her shorts instead."I know we're on a mission but do you really need that many knives?"

"You can never have too many knives." She countered. She had a point.

"Well done guys. Extraction tomorrow at 0600, same place. Treat your wounds and get some rest." Coulson said through the comms.

"Food." Clint corrected as he abseiled down the building. "We've not eaten since this morning. I'm starving."

They walked in silence as they removed their weapons from the dead and dying men. As Natasha removed her knife from the last man he gasped, "An angel!", staring up at the beautiful woman above him.

"Of death." She whispered back as the life left his body.

After demolishing an entire pizza in less than ten minutes Clint leaned back against the bed and sighed. "Mexicans make good pizza." He announced, patting his stomach. Natasha smiled and dangled a slice of hers over his mouth. He ate half of it in one bite.

"Watch my fingers, Barton!" She laughed. "How can you still be hungry when all you've done is sit on a roof all day?"

"I didn't have lunch."

"I'd hate to see you starved. Here, I don't want any more." She handed him the last slice and put the boxes in the bin. They were in a different hotel this time, having hastily left the town of dead bodies. The room was tiny and the single bed filled most of the space. Natasha began to strip out of her tight-fitting suit but after struggling to get it down to her waist she let out a frustrated moan and flopped down on the bed next to Clint. "I give up. I'll just sleep like this." She mumbled into the sheets. Clint sat up and tugged her boots off. Without much difficulty he peeled off her suit. Bruises were starting to from all over her body and there were patches of dried blood.

Poking his unresponsive partner in the side he said, "Go have a shower so we can tell which blood is yours."

She pushed herself upright and headed for the bathroom. "None of it, I think." She said over her shoulder.

When Clint stepped out of the bathroom in a plume of steam Natasha was talking to Coulson on the laptop. Natasha turned as he entered the room. "Are you injured?" She asked even though she could see his skin was only marred by the usual scars.

"Fine." He said to Coulson, giving him a grin and sat down next to Natasha on the bed. "You're getting water all over the bed, Nat." He complained, ringing out her long curls so the water left a puddle on the floor. "I'm not surviving gunfire to die of pneumonia."

Natasha looked absolutely exhausted so Coulson decided to get to his point and leave them to sleep. "Fury is pleased with your work over the last few months so once you're back and have debriefed you both have a week off. No disturbances unless it's over a level 4."

Natasha frowned. "Above level 5." She bargained.

"I'm not the boss." Coulson reminded her gently. "Take it up with Fury." Natasha opened her mouth to protest but he cut her off. "Get some sleep Natasha, you can argue when you get back. Goodnight, Agents."

"Goodnight, Phil." They chorused before Clint shut the laptop. Sliding under the duvet both agents faced the door, Natasha curled up in Clint's arms. She was asleep in seconds but Clint savoured how close they had become before sleeping too.

They were woken by the jarring sound of the hotel alarm clock. In less than a second both agent were standing fully armed, ready to fight before they realised the alarm clock was not attacking them.

"Who makes an alarm that sounds like gunfire?" Clint grumbled and threw the offending item across the room where it smashed and fell silent.

"There is something seriously wrong with the gun if it makes a sound like that!" Natasha laughed, throwing their few items and Clint's bow and quiver into his rucksack.

"Could be an alien gun or- hey! Don't throw my bow!" He scolded.

Natasha gave him a pointed look. "Last week you dropped it from a ten storey building and it wasn't even scratched. I think it can survive that cushioned fall."

"Fucking crazy Russian." Clint swore under his breath as she went into the bathroom to change. Natasha pretended she hadn't heard him. Two minutes later they were both dressed in casual S.H.I.E.L.D issue clothes and left the hotel silently and unnoticed.

"Taaashaaaa..." Clint whined as they headed to the outskirts of town for the quinjet back to base.

"Cliiiiiiiint..." She returned without slowing her pace.

"Can we have breakfast?" He asked, hopeful.

Natasha stopped and turned to him, amazed. "Really? After all that pizza you want breakfast?" He nodded. She rolled her eyes and continued walking. "And where are we going to find breakfast at five thirty in the morning? A 7-Eleven? Nowhere is open this early- you will just have to wait until we're back at base"

"I might die by then." He said dramatically, stumbling for effect.

"I can only hope." She joked.

Coulson met them as the quinjet landed. Clint jumped down from the pilot seat with a grin. "Food! At last!" And headed to the canteen. Natasha followed with Phil at a slower pace. "Well that was a stressful journey." She commented. "I didn't realise quinjets could fly that fast. You might get a call from Georgia- Clint though they were taking too long to give him access to the commercial airspace and flew through anyway."

"Great." Phil's voice was thick with sarcasm.

After a large meal that served as breakfast, lunch and dinner combined and a failed attempt to negotiate an undisturbed week Natasha headed to the target range. She almost always had nightmares after a mission and tonight she wasn't ready to face them. She prefered knifes at a time like this. Their silent and slick approach was calming. Clearing the range of other agents with a glare she settled into a rhythm, hitting a dummy repeatedly with fatal procession before collecting her knifes and starting again.

Clint lay awake, listening. He had been listening for almost an hour and still hadn't heard the light tread of his partner entering the adjacent room. Groaning, he left his warm bed and set off in search of the defiant red head.

Natasha as in the range as he expected. She was covered in a thin sheen of sweat and was throwing knives in quick succession with deadly accuracy. Clint entered the room and went to stand beside the target, letting his footsteps ring round the hall so he wouldn't surprise her. When Natasha's hands were empty and the dummy was well and truly dead Clint pulled her knives from the canvas. Natasha held out her hand and motioned for him to return them but he shook his head with a sad smile.

Natasha rolled her eyes and produced another blade which she threw with extra vigour. Then came another and multiple small weapons. Clint pulled them out the dummy without a word and added them to his collection. Next Natasha opened the pouch in which Clint knew she kept a small first aid kit. Briefly, he wondered if he had gone too far but Natasha only took out the sterile needle and threw it at the dummy's neck where it went right through the 'skin' and into the stuffing. Clint met Natasha's accusing gaze. and asked, "Done?" Her facial expression clearly said that she was but only against her will.

Outside her door Natasha held her hand out once more for her weapons but Clint laughed. "And have you sneak back to the range? No way. I'm confiscating them for the night."

Natasha stared open-mouthed. "You can't do that!" She was whispering but only because they were surrounded by sleeping agents, trained to wake at the slightest noise.

"I can and I will. The five hours sleep we got last night wasn't enough for you to be doing an all-nighter. Get some sleep Tasha." Clint told her gently. She frowned but stalked into her room without taking her weapons. At least she still had her guns.

Though he didn't hear the door open Clint felt Natasha's presence next to his bed; above the pile of weapons. "Don't even think about it, Nat." He said without opening his eyes. She stepped over the mound and lay down next to him, resting her head on his chest and pressing her freezing feet onto his calves, sending shivers up his spine. Taking a risk, Clint put his hand down her cleavage and pulled out the blade she had lifted from the floor. Setting it on the bedside table he wrapped one arm round her slim figure. "You're safe here, Tasha." He reminded her, "HYDRA can't get you." She moved closer and hummed contentedly in response.

In the middle of the night Clint woke and felt a damp patch on his t-shirt. Looking down he saw Natasha's fiery red locks. Fully awake now he realised she was shaking too- tiny little shudders every few seconds. Guessing she was having a nightmare Clint carefully shook her awake, ready for the blow she would inevitably send his way.

Natasha panicked when she couldn't find a weapon and backed down the bed with fear in her eyes.

"Tasha, it was a dream. It's alright. It's me- Clint." He assured her. At his name Natasha stopped retreating, something in her brain telling he could be trusted. Against his better judgement Clint took the knife from the bedside table and passed it to her, handle first. Apparently, this wasn't something her captures at HYDRA did because her eyes focused on him properly and she slumped against the wall.

Deciding that despite the knife she was safer to approach, Clint pulled Natasha into his arms and brushed away her tears. "Do you want to tell me about it?" He asked. "Coulson listened for me and it really helped." If there was anyone more messed up than Natasha it was Clint. Her crazy story would be familiar to him. Twirling the knife to calm herself down she began:

"Petrovitch brainwashed me as a child. I think you know that." He nodded. "He made me do terrible things and I didn't even care. I was a killing machine." She paused, never having shared secrets before. "When you saved me, life was too good to be true. I had people I could trust and I was fighting for the good side for once. Then I thought, What if I'm still brainwashed. What if I'm still killing innocent people and I just think I'm doing good. What if you're him and-"

"You're not brainwashed. This is real." He broke in.

"I know." She smiled. "Petrovitch would never save my life at the risk of his- something you have done many times. But I still get nightmares after a mission. I relive it with Petrovitch instead of you and people are begging and begging for mercy and I kill them." She shuddered and Clint pulled her back under the covers.

"Next time that bastard shows his face I'll kill him for what he did to you." Clint promised. "No. I'll seriously injure him. I'll give you the honour of sending him to Hell."

She laughed, warming Clint's heart, and kissed him on the cheek. "Such a gentleman. But if I'm busy feel free to finish him yourself." She rested her head on his chest and he stroked her hair as she drifted off to sleep.

"It would be my genuine pleasure." He whispered but she never heard him.

When Clint woke the next morning he was alone. Peering over the side of the bed he saw Natasha's weapons were also gone. In their place was a neatly written note- Thank you. For disarming me. He had a feeling Natasha wasn't just talking about her physical weapons. Dressing quickly, Clint headed for the canteen for his morning coffee. The stuff S.H.I.E.L.D. had was pretty awful but it was better that nothing. Filing two cups and grabbing a slice of toast he headed for the roof.

"What are you doing?" Clint as he sat next to Natasha and offered her one of the cups. She stopped her furious typing and took it with a grateful smile.

"Writing our mission report so we can leave." She took a sip of her coffee and grimaced. "And find somewhere with better coffee."

"Somewhere colder. All our recent assignments have been in hot countries." Clint dangled his legs over the side of the building, kicking at the concrete. "Not that I'm complaining, I just want a change of scenery."

"Russia?" Natasha asked hopefully, a pleading look in her eyes.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" He didn't want to anger his friend by telling her it was dangerous but with HYDRA still out for her blood it wasn't the wisest choice.

Natasha rolled her eyes. "It's a big country, Clint. We can avoid HYDRA's bases and keep a low profile. They won't even know we're there."

"Fine." He conceded. "But you're dying your hair."

Natasha frowned at that but didn't object. Her bright red locks were just too recognisable for them to go unnoticed. Clint lent over her shoulder to read the report. Giving it a brief scan, he saw no faults. He hadn't expected any. Natasha was thorough as usual and betrayed no emotion.

"And then Agent Barton took down three men with a single arrow." He suggested dramatically. "Agent Romanoff was overpowered and would surely be killed but Agent Barton came to her rescue and fought off their foes with his bare hands." Standing in the middle of the roof he acted out the scene in his head.

Natasha laughed at his overactive imagination. "Agent Barton sat on his ass and let Agent Romanoff do all the hard work." She corrected.

Clint rushed over to check the screen. "You didn't write that, did you?" He asked but the report ended with the same line she always finished with, one she copied from his reports when she joined S.H.I.E.L.D. Target eliminated and public safe.

Two minutes later the report was waiting in Coulson's email inbox and Natasha was booking their flight to Russia. She typed in Clint's credit card details without a second thought. He let her use his account for joint things like this as S.H.I.E.L.D. was still monitoring her purchases, waiting for her to betray them. She wouldn't though. Here she had people she could trust and she was treated like a decent human being- for the most part. She was given holidays and if she was compromised she knew Clint would do everything to get her back. That was the best part. She was no longer a dispensable pawn for HYDRA- she meant something. Not just for her skills or looks but for who she really was, bad temper and all.

"Meet me out front in half an hour." She told Clint as she shut the lid of the laptop and headed for the stairs. "If you are late you have to do the cooking and the dishes for the next week."

"And if I'm on time?" He asked, hurrying to keep up with her long strides.

"I'll cook you beef stroganoff. Either Anastasia taught me how to make it or Petrovitch brainwashed it into me but either way I can cook it from memory." She stopped outside a rather unremarkable door and swung it open without knocking. "Hey, Phil." She greeted the drained man buried under a mountain of paperwork.

"And what do I owe the pleasure?" He asked, smiling at the two agents he almost viewed like children- deadly, emotionally traumatised children.

"We're going on holiday so we came to say goodbye." Clint explained.

"And do I get to know where this holiday is?" Normally Coulson was trusted with at least the name of the country they were escaping to.

"That's a secret." Clint said childishly.

Coulson sighed. "You're going to Russia, aren't you?" He didn't wait for a reply, seeing the truth in their eyes. "I don't think that's a good idea, Natasha."

"I'm not going to walk around with a flashing neon sign, Phil. And I can take care of myself. Clint's already getting me to dye my hair. Speaking of which- I have to go. Clint, can you fake our I.D's. Both American. Don't be late." She left without a backwards glance and jogged off down the corridor.

"It's as if she doesn't trust me." Clint complained.

"Oh, she trusts you." Phil assured him. "More than she trusts anyone else. Natasha has just had enough experience with you to know you'll do something stupid unless she spells it out."

"Thanks for the support."

"No need to inflate your ego." Phil replied. "Now go pack your snowshoes before I have to file your death certificate."

Clint took Natasha's hand luggage and stored in the overhead locker like a good boyfriend would. He gestured for her to go first into their row of seats but she raised a questioning eyebrow. "Don't you want the window seat, Hawk." She teased.

Clint's face wrinkled as his good manners fought with his desire for a real bird's eye view. Normally when they flew he was the pilot, or at least knew the pilot. The lack of control was bound to make him nervous. Natasha ended up pushing him in in front of her before they blocked the aisle. They sat making light, meaningless conversation as the plane filled, watching for possible threats.

"Are you alright." Clint asked as the last passenger boarded. Natasha grasped his hidden meaning and gave a small nod, her dirty blonde curls bouncing. The plane was safe.

A large, darkly dressed man squeezed into the seat next to them with a very heavily accented "Good morning."

"Good morning." Natasha echoed eagerly.

"Are you Russian?" He asked, chattier in his native language.

"No." She lied smoothly. "I'm American but my mother was Russian. I'm going - with my boyfriend." She clasped Clint's hand to include him in the conversation.

"I'm Russell." The man greeted.

"Jason." Clint shook his hand firmly. "I speak Russian too. Alice taught me." He tilted his head in Natasha's direction.

"You speak it very well." Russell praised. "If you don't mind me asking, how long have you been together?"

"Two and a half years." Natasha told him and to an outsider it was obvious they were in love. However, that was yet more lies and deception. It had only been seven months since Clint had been ordered to eliminate the Black Widow.

The rest of the flight was spent in companionable silence. Russell struggled through a political newspaper and Natasha skimmed a romantic novel while keeping one eye on the movements of her fellow passengers. Clint stared happily out of the window with his headphones on, drumming out the beat on Natasha's thigh. The assassins passed on the in-flight meal almost by habit but there was no point getting careless. That's how people like them get killed. As they neared end of their flight Natasha stilled Clint's hand on her leg and pulled off his headphones. "Will they stop us in Kotlas?" She asked quickly in English so Russell wouldn't understand. The family in front was arguing and the teenagers behind were watching the inflight movie so nobody would overhear.

"They will unless Coulson pulled some strings." He spoke into her ear, making her wriggle in her seat. She groaned at the thought of explaining S.H.I.E.L.D. and their weapons to the customs officers. Russell gave them a disapproving look and Natasha pinched Clint's side for setting her up like that. He gave her the cheeky grin she knew all too well and she glowered in response.

"You're dealing with the customs officers." She growled. "In Russian."

Luckily for Clint, Coulson had spent most of the afternoon arguing with various high-up people and their bags were waved through without a check. When they set the metal detector off their weapons were ignored though the woman searching Natasha grew increasingly more terrified as she felt weapon after weapon hidden on the redhead's person. As soon as they were out of earshot Clint doubled over laughing. "Oh, man. She almost cried!" He exclaimed. "That was great."

The apartment they rented was in the middle of town. The windows were dirty and the wallpaper wrinkled with damp. It was by no means a nice place to stay but it was private and thats what mattered. Natasha stretched out on the bed and it groaned under her weight, dipping in the middle.

"We're going to have to move the bed." She told Clint but made no effort to get up. Though the door would at their feet the headboard was just under the window ledge and they wouldn't be able to see out window from lying down. Clint lay down next to her and rolled down the slope to the middle.

"This is like a ready-made nest." He commented.

"Is it up to your standards, Mister Hawk?" She teased.

"No. It not big enough for two!" Clint shoved her off the bed with a laugh.

"The плинтусов are divine." Natasha reported sarcastically from the floor. "What do you call them?"

Clint leant over the side of the bed to see what she was pointing at. "Skirting boards. What's it in Russian?"

"плинтусов"

"плинтусов. I like that better. плинтусов. You need to teach me more Russian." He told her and together they moved the bed.

"You need to teach me more English." She countered.

"Your English is perfect!" He protested. "You don't even have an accent unless you're angry. I bet you know more words than I do."

"I doubt that. Change." She threw a casual shirt at him and headed for the bathroom with a ruby red dress. It was a shame her hair didn't match anymore.

Natasha dragged him to a nearby restaurant and with some subtle flirting had them seated in five minutes. She ordered for them both, already knowing Clint's tastes from the months with mainly him for company.

"This is good." Clint dug into his lamb.

"Of course it's good- it's Russian." Natasha stole some and nodded in appreciation. "After this we are going drinking."

Clint's eyes had narrowed when she stole his food but now they softened in concern. "Are you avoiding sleep, Tasha?" He asked quietly.

"No!" She protested. "You just need to see the best of Russia before Fury calls us back."

"The best of Russia is sitting right in front of me."

Natasha blushed at the compliment but hid in her usual manner. She kicked him under the table. "I'm supposed to be American!" She hissed at him.

"Well technically you are." They were talking in whispers now. "Coulson gave this to me before we left." He took out a dark blue passport and slide it across the table. "You're officially ours."

She opened the tiny book. Natasha Romanoff. American Citizen. New name. New country. New life.

"Keep it safe." Natasha handed it back and Clint zipped it into his coat pocket. "Does this mean I'm not on probation any longer?" She asked casually.

"After this holiday." He confirmed. "But you don't get rid of me that easily. We both get solo missions but you're still partnered with me. We work too well as a team."

"Damn." Natasha cursed but she was smiling. There was no-one she would rather be partnered with than Clint. His joking in her ear made the flirting more bearable and she would miss it on her solo missions.

They skipped dessert and wandered down the street for a more private conversation.

"You do know that I won't get drunk." Clint reminded Natasha.

"Neither will I." She retorted, dancing down the street.

"No. You can't get drunk, I won't-there's a difference."

"Why won't you let yourself get drunk?" Natasha asked, stopping so he could catch up and linking arms with him.

"My dad." Clint admitted. "He was wasted all the time and he hit my mom and me and Barney. That's why we ran away with the circus. I don't want to end up like him."

"I think you'd be a funny drunk anyway." Natasha steered them into the nearest pub.

"One beer and a glass of vodka, please." Natasha ordered. The barman set to work and slid a glass of beer and a vodka shot across the bar. Natasha gave the beer to Clint and pushed the shot back. "A proper glass of vodka."

"I'm not sure that's wise, babe. Russian vodka is strong." The barman had heard them speaking English as they came in and obviously took Natasha as a dumb blonde American.

"I know it's strong- that's why I drink it!" She exclaimed. The barman looked to Clint for support but all he got was a laugh.

"She can hold her liquor." Clint assured him and the barman reluctantly poured Natasha her drink.

Over the course of the night Natasha finished an entire bottle, much to the amazement of the barman. She stumbled slightly for effect as they left but straightened up once they were out of sight."Not even tipsy." She complained as they headed back to the apartment. "At least I can't get pregnant, that's one upside to the stupid serum."

"Aren't you annoyed they took that choice away from you?" Clint asked cautiously. Though Natasha claimed not to be drunk she was being far more open than usual.

"No. I would be an awful mother and the kid would just be brought up in the same hell as me. Would you want a kid to grown up the same way as you?" It was rhetorical question. They wouldn't wish their childhoods on their worst enemies. Ok, maybe Petrovitch and the Swordsman but that was just giving them a taste of their own medicine. "It's better this way." Natasha concluded and they lapsed into companionable silence.

The next day was spent with Natasha dragging Clint round the small town. Her eyes were alight as she remembered the happy days of her childhood, before she could kill in the blink of an eye. Clint loved seeing her like that- laughing and smiling with her fellow Russians, keeping up the facade without a hitch but no longer worrying about work or the Red Room. By the time night fell Clint was more than happy to return to the apartment and claim his stroganoff. Clint decided watching Natasha cook was one of the best things in his life. Not only did he get to stare at her ass without her noticing, it was also funny to see her panic about the lack of control she had over the temperamental cooker.

Halfway through the delicious meal Clint's cell went off. They groaned in unison, knowing only S.H.I.E.L.D had that number. Clint answered with an annoyed. "What? We've not even been here for a full day yet and Tasha made me stroganoff. You can't seriously be telling me there is a crisis nobody else can handle." Tasha smiled at his need to mention the food and slipped into his lap to press her ear to the other side of the cell.

"I'm sorry Clint but the King of Swaziland is under threat and needs security." Coulson's voice came through, full of static. At least it was Coulson Clint had ranted to, Fury wouldn't have taken that well.

"Security's not a proper job!" Clint protested. "And nobody will believe Nat's a security guard. She's-"

Coulson cut him off. "Natasha isn't going. We need her as a spy in Louisiana."

"But-" Clint tried.

"She's not on probation any longer,Clint. And we need all our best agents out in the field." Coulson told him gently.

"Can't I go with Nat- I'm alway her backup. There must be some other beef to do the security."

"Pick up at 2100 hours. You have time to finish your stroganoff." Coulson ended the call before Clint could argue any longer.

When Coulson met his agents at New York airport he had been expecting Clint's glares- the man seemed to be making up for his lack of childhood in his later years. However, Natasha scared him. Coulson had been expecting knife threats or at least a heart-chilling stare but instead the young redhead was standing meekly by her partner's side, eyes downcast. It could be a front but somehow Coulson didn't think so. Natasha rarely played him or Clint anymore- a sure sign of her trust- and she really had been looking forward this trip. If she wasn't still a master assassin he might have hugged her. Instead Coulson nodded in greeting and lead them to the waiting S.H.I.E.L.D car.

"I'm sorry your holiday was cut short, Natasha. There just isn't anyone else up to the same standard." Coulson apologised once they were in the car. Clint's glare softened and he looked at his partner in sympathy. Natasha turned from staring out the window and gave Phil a sad smile in his mirror.

"It's fine, Phil." She assured him. "When I left the Red Room I didn't really expect to get the chance to go back to Russia. Two days was much more than I could have hoped for." It was a punch in the gut for Phil and he made a silent vow to make it up to her somehow.

At base Natasha was only give one hour until her jet left and after a change of clothes so she was a suitable business woman there was only time to do last minute checks. She asked Clint to check the jet, something he had always done on every mission since she arrived and the familiarity calmed her down. "All fine." He informed her, ducking into the back of the quinjet where she was waiting patiently. Looking up at his reassuring smile Natasha fet a tug of longing and stood to say goodbye. Clint opened his arms for a hug but on impulse Natasha reached up and kissed him. Clint, after an initial frozen moment of shock, responded eagerly. "We should have done this months ago." Clint said breathlessly when they broke for air.

"Ad that would have looked great." Natasha said sarcastically, running her hands down his rippling arms. "A probationary agent sleeping with her assessor."

"Like anyone would have noticed." He grumbled as they locked lips again and he backed her against the wall. Natasha slid her tongue into his mouth and wrapped her legs around him, showing exactly why she was so good at her job. "Fuck, Nat." Clint moaned, grabbing her ass tighter.

"No time." She replied disappointedly, kissing down his neck.

"That's not- I didn't mean- I wouldn't-" Clint blustered, turning red.

Natasha tipped her head to one side as she ran one hand up his chest. "Why not? I trust you, Clint and everyone already thinks we are."

Now they weren't kissing Clint remember that she was leaving and hugged her close, breathing in her scent for what might be the last time in over a month. "When we're back." He promised, kissing her gently one last time before moving down the ramp so the approaching pilot wouldn't see them together. "Just come back in one piece, Tasha." She nodded and he turned and walked away without seeing her depart. Goodbyes where to final and there was no way that was his last sight of her.


End file.
